


On a Raven’s Wings

by Ghostpocky



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Body Horror, Budding Love, Canon Backstory, F/M, Flashbacks, Guilty Gear - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Horror, Masochism, Romance, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29566527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostpocky/pseuds/Ghostpocky
Summary: This story is an eventually heartbreaking tale of Raven’s time in the village that turned it’s back on him, driving him to become the character he’s known for in the Guilty Gear series. This features much love (even some fluff!!) and angst, but also graphic depictions of violence and masochism.
Relationships: Raven/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **I wasn’t kidding about the violence and masochistic content. You’ve been warned :) **

Raven sighed, his green eyes lulling up into the afternoon drizzle. The summer rain had been relentless this year—the kind of damp that hung in the air, bits of it clinging to you as you walked, a moist and willing parasite that ached old bones with it’s transparent weight.

 _Aches_. He thought simply, holding his right hand out, opening and closing a fist with wet fingers. The burden of immortality was vast, but one of the best things about his particular condition was the nagging pains that plagued him when the skies went gray. He relished in the feeling of grit as the bones of his hand moved, wondering how many times the cursed biology had been pulverized, sliced, amputated and put back together. The sentiment brought to mind an old saying: _If the blade of an axe is replaced, and then it’s handle, is it the same axe?_

“Foolish.” He muttered to himself, crossing his arms, finally continuing his venture down the streets of a nameless village. It most likely had a title, of course, but so did all the other ones he’d seen rise and fall over his long life. The year may change, but the brutish people and their merciless chatter were a constant. 

His gaze worked around the unfamiliar space to see a woman in brown, ragged clothes reaching out to her children, a local priest scuttling down the road clutching a cross to his chest as he passed the brothel, a horseman riding in with express messages for the town fathers. All new faces. All faces he’s seen thousands of times.

“Excuse me...mister?” Raven’s brow raised as he felt a gentle tug at the bottom of his traveling cloak. He looked down to see a small boy, maybe five years old, clutching the black fabric in a plump fist. The child’s honey colored eyes were wide, tears edging in as his round face strained to meet his own. “You’re a...doctor?” His voice struggled against emotion as a chubby finger pointed to a medic pack on his belt. 

_Distressing_.

He knelt in the mud to level with him, the wet earth seeping through his pants and onto the skin of his knee in a cool groan. “You need a doctor?” His head tilted to the side as his eyes narrowed compassionately, awaiting response.

“Mommy is...sick.” He blubbered, tears streaming down his cheeks and onto the filthy shirt he wore. “C-could you help?”

 _Could I help_? His mind parroted as he blinked. The combat medic in him wanted to burst into action, find this woman and pull her back from the brink of whatever fate she may face. The immortal part of him, however, was conflicted in denying her a natural death. Who was he to play god? He, who was turned away from Valhalla itself?

Raven reached up, pulling down his large hood to run a hand through tufts of white hair. “Take me to her.” He instructed, his smooth voice laced with as much sympathy as he could muster. 

_Odin be damned._

The boy nodded, grabbing the man’s finger and pulling him through the village, his bouncy blond curls swirling as the wind began to howl around them. “She won’t wake up.” He said, his small frame shuddering against the elements, this morning’s drizzle growing into a proper storm as they continued.

 _Won’t wake up? This could get ugly._ The thought was punctuated by the smell of rotting meat as they approached a small hut at the edge of the settlement. Raven put his hand to his nose, the faint aroma of soap doing nothing against the pungency of whatever has died here. His grassy eyes pivoted down, taking in the boy’s reaction.

_Nothing. How is this stench not phasing him?_

The child’s soft hand pushed at the front door, it’s deteriorated boards screeching in protest as they swung. The smell of death and damp rose to greet the pair as they crossed the threshold, a thicket of flies buzzed past and into the gloom.

 _And this did indeed get ugly_. He rubbed the skin of his forehead in small circles, fighting the urge to recollect the faces of his friends that fell in battle. Their limbs unnaturally bent, skewered by various weaponry, their mouths gaping maws of blood and earth, riggored in permanent agony. After a few days in the trenches the smell was much like this one, sulfuric and invading. So are the horrors of war.

The boy led him through the quarters silently. Raven’s head turned from corner to corner as they went, taking in the deplorable conditions—uncleaned dishes gathering mold near the wash bin, soiled rags and broken furniture littered the space, bits of rain soaked through the ceiling in areas where the roof was weak.

 _Looters were here?_ He concluded, seeing chest drawers slung open, various papers and utensils spilt onto the softwood below. _And they didn’t even take this_? His eyes pulled to an antique standing mirror, elaborate trim wrapping the glass in fine detail carved from solid cherry, bits of gold peaking at him through the layers of dust. 

“No taste.” Raven muttered. It occurred to him, though, that perhaps it was their own reflections that deterred the would-be thieves. His own figure stared back at him—tall and lean, a shock of shoulder-length white hair falling in wispy layers over his broad shoulders. The pants he wore were form fitting black fatigues that tucked into large boots, his simple black thermal obscured by the shifting material of an oversized cloak, the hood secured in the front by a small ruby clasp. 

It had been some time since he seen himself, but the distaste was already boiling within as the smooth skin of his countenance crumpled into a scowl. This dilapidated place, no doubt younger than he, was already falling to decay in ways he never would. 

“Mommy...” 

The word was an anchor, pulling him back to shore. He turned to the child who had made his way into the adjacent room. Raven stepped over the threshold, running his hand along the doorframe to catch a large splinter angled from its surface. He pulled the limb back, his thumb rubbing the sliver of wood deeper into his palm as he continued.

His eyes widened at the sight — a woman’s body, weeks decayed, propped up in the corner, her lifeless eyes half-closed, a ghostly white glossing the orbs. Her hair fell in ragged strands from a dainty skull, the skin of her gray face was erupted with sores , their oozing contents crusted in black patches as death took hold. 

_What...do I do with this? What is this illness?_ His gaze turned to the boy who stared up at him silently, a wordless plea etched into his soft features. Settling on honesty, he began, “Your mother is dead. There’s no cure for her now, not even from one like myself.” 

A sigh escaped him as the boy erupted into tears, his oversized head hanging low, bobbing with his sobs as he heaved.

_I suppose I have no choice._

“Come.” Raven directed, scooping the child’s delicate frame into his arms. “This is no place for you.”

*****

 _Why did they tell me to wait here?_ The thought was a groan in his head as his back slumped against the cool interior bricks of the local orphanage. His long fingers grasped his hood, pulling the black fabric over white locks. He closed his eyes, sinking a hand into the pocket of his fatigues where a knife lay. His thumb found the blade and applied pressure creating a wide and seeping gash, a buzzing excitement jolted through him in response.

 _More_. He begged himself, digging the weapon deeper into tender flesh, the metal tip scraping along his bone. _That’s it._ His grassy eyes closed as he focused on the pain, hot and yearning through his tortured digit, a smile curled his lips in response.

“Thank you so much for bringing him!” A gentle voice called from the mortal realm, Raven’s head shifted upwards to meet it. There was now a woman standing before him, presumably in her mid twenties, an expression of relief plastered across her pale countenance.

_Beautiful…?_

He blinked, processing her appearance. She was much shorter than himself, her head leveled with his shoulders. Her attire was a simple cloth dress, pristinely kept, trimmed with white lace. Long strands of red framed her delicate features, glistening blue eyes stared up, finding his own.

“Um…” He began, forgetting the topic of discussion for a moment, suddenly nervous. “Yes.” The word was safe, hopefully camouflaging into whatever conversation this girl was attempting to have. Within his pocket the blade of his knife chipped a fragment of bone away as his hand slipped causing the hairs of his neck to gleefully rise.

“I can’t believe he was living with the corpse of his mother. What absolute trauma that poor boy must be processing.” She said, her brow downturned. “I only hope that we can help him...” The stranger’s right hand rubbed at her opposite arm, shuffling the loose fabric of her dress between shaky fingers.

 _Of course, the child_. 

“He will be alright in his own time.” He explained lowly, the flavor of his suppressed German accent peeking through. Clearing his throat, he continued. “We all lose our parents eventually. Being so young, he likely won’t remember the details.” 

_I’m lying. Why am I lying? Does this woman really need false comfort?_

“Do you really think so?” She muttered, taking a step closer to grab his left hand in hers. “My name is Anselma, but everyone calls me Annie. I volunteer here at the orphanage, my father and I also run the library in town. Will you be staying long?” 

A blush rose on his cheeks as their skin met, her eyes thrashing ocean waves threatening to drag him down. “Y-You should use Anselma.” He stumbled, pulling his hand away to tug anxiously at his ear. “It’s...an old name. A good name.” His head dropped a bit to view her figure, petite and lovely in the soft candlelight.

_I must draw her._

Raven had made a habit of sketching interesting people and places as he travelled—lakeside views, rough merchants, stray wildlife. Nothing thus far would compare to this, though. His charcoal tracing the slope of her nose, the curls of her hair, the curve of her hips. He wanted it. He longed for it.

“You can...call me that if you’d like” Anselma agreed, a light giggle dancing around her words. “And what may I call you?”

“My name is Raven. I will be in town for a few days. Some...business to attend to.” His accent worsened as he flustered, his bloodsoaked right hand clenching in his pocket, the stabbing pain taking the edge from his tension. With a deep breath he relaxed, the scent of honeysuckle meeting him halfway.

_She smells...nice._

“Well then, sir Raven, I must insist you come for dinner tomorrow evening as a repayment for your good deed today. Do you have shelter for the evening?”

“Thank you for the kind offer. I do.” He lied, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes widened as she reached a hand up, rustling the fringe of his bangs lightly. 

“Sorry, this is bugging me a bit.” Her arm pulled back, a yellowing maple leaf in her grasp. “Fall will be here before we know it!” Her words became more upbeat as she offered him a wide smile. “I will leave you to your business, then, and look forward to meeting you at our library tomorrow.”

He nodded silently as she handed him the leaf and turned, disappearing into the opposite room, the screeching thud of a heavy wooden door separating them once again.

_What...just happened?_

*****

“I just don’t know why I accepted that offer. What was I thinking? I don’t even have a reason to stay in this place!” Raven exclaimed, legs crossed as he sat on the decrepit floor, furiously sketching away at a piece of parchment with a nub of charcoal. 

_Almond eyes?_ He pondered, looking up from his work to better view his subject. The corpse he discovered earlier that day stared back, her lifeless face a map of lines and circles as he concentrated. 

_Perhaps if I…_

His hand reached out, his index finger pulling at the spongy skin of the thing’s gaunt cheeks to reposition the lighting. Turning back to the project he sighed, berating himself for being more comfortable amongst the dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Raven rubbed his arms beneath his cloak as he navigated the village streets, the light fabric of his thermal doing little to fight the Autumn chill that had invaded the late days of Summer. While he welcomed all varieties of agony, the cold was something of a nuisance for him. It was not pain, but it also proved an unignorable detail as he travelled. The weather was pure discomfort, a tease holding potential to satisfy but never quite reaching those heights.

 _This is the library?_ He thought, peering up at a large building fashioned from gray stone, its many windows alight with the flicker of candle flame. A small cat was situated near the front door, its black coat lush in anticipation of the dropping temperatures as Fall settled across the English countryside.

 _What vermin_. He sneered, his upper lip curling a bit at the sight. While he did not prefer using his Aves form often, felines never failed to pester him when he did so, their sharp claws looking to skewer his bird-flesh at first glance. Usually, the masochist in him would welcome the jagged wounds such feats may bring, but the idea of being reduced to mere poultry for such an unrefined creature was unfavorable.

A sigh escaped him as he approached the large oak door, careful to keep his feet as far away from the business’s gatekeeper as possible. His hand reached out, about to knock, when the entry swung open from the opposite side revealing Anselma, her large blue eyes happily beaming up at him as he blinked, the smell of cooking meat leaking into the evening gloom.

Raven’s gaze caught her own, a blush growing on his cheeks as he turned his head. “I’m here.” The words were low, a bit shaky as he pivoted his grassy eyes to the side, fighting the siren song of his pocket knife.

“You came! I’m so happy.” She smiled, extending her hand to grab his own. His heartbeat quickened as she pulled him over the threshold and into the warmth of the Library.

He heard her say something, but was too distracted by the interior of the space to absorb it. The wanderer gawked at numerous bookshelves, double his own height, packed to the brim with text and secured with thick chains. Various displays were arranged to showcase plentiful antiques — weapons, scrolls, armor, all perfectly preserved behind thick glass encasements. One of the most interesting features, and perhaps his favorite, was the taxidermied animals that stared back at them— deer, bear, raccoons, even a moose— all their stuffed limbs positioned to mimic the life that they have lost.

 _Such treasures._ He thought, leveling his face to take in the details of a large white-tail buck, his finger running along the velveteen antlers with a shudder. _How many foes have these impaled?_

“Raven?” 

“Mmm?” He hummed, prying himself away from the dead thing to face Anselma once more. 

She ran her thumb along the side of his hand, her freckled cheeks rising to smile softly. “You’re freezing. Here, I’ll get you something while you take in the place.”

Looking down, he noticed that their fingers had laced together. _When did I...?_ His eyebrows raised, startled at his own boldness.

Releasing her grip on him the girl approached a small closet near the center staircase, rummaging through the hanging contents. He flexed his hand absentmindedly, making his way to one of the many bookshelves, peering at the titles through their hefty constraints. There were countless subjects to choose from, but one in his native language caught his attention.

 _“Legende des Albtraums_ ” he read aloud, his head tilted sideways to better inspect the spine, wisps of white hair falling in his eyes.

“Tales of Nighttime?” Anselma asked as she approached, a thick woolen sweater hugged against her chest.

“Close,” Raven began, surprise in his tone. _She speaks German?_ Turning to face her, he continued. “Legends of Nightmare is the more literal translation.” His brow raised as her arms outstretched, presenting the clothing to him.

“This old Library doesn’t fare well against the cold. You’ll never get comfortable wearing such a thin cloak.” She explained, her long red hair bouncing as she rocked on the heels of her feet.

_For me…?_

“Oh, well, thank you.” He said, taking the sweater in his hands, unfolding the fabric to hold its full length before him. It was hand-knitted of thick grey yarn and exceedingly large, even for one of his height. His brow furrowed as he fought with his cloak fastening for a moment, shuffling off the light-weight fabric , his thermal lifting a bit as he did so, a draft teasing the exposed skin of his lower abs as he fumbled the bulky piece over his head, taking in the faint floral scent seemingly etched into the stitches.

 _It smells like her._ He observed, guiding his arms through the oversized sleeves, thankful to be free of the pestering cold. It occurred to him that it had been decades, maybe more, since he received a gift. A sudden pang of remorse hit him for having nothing to give in return.

“Well, don’t you look cozy!” She said, an intense blush accentuating her stare. 

Raven rubbed the back of his neck nervously, the excess fabric of his new attire shuffling with his movement. “It’s nice…” he said, his eyes narrowed happily. “I apologize that I don’t have anything to—“

Anselma reached a hand up, putting a finger to his lips. “Shhhh.” She directed, her touch lingering on him for a moment before withdrawing. “You don’t owe me anything but your company.” 

_She...wants my company?_ He thought, wondering what exactly her intentions were. It occurred to him that in this moment his own were conflicted as well. Part of him just wanted the night sky beneath his wings, to fly into some unknown danger and revel in the struggle of a hard journey. The other part, unfamiliar and growing, longed to stay with this mysterious stranger and her house of oddities. To explore whatever feeling tightened his chest when he looked at her, to extend a hand and press her flesh against his own until they were indistinguishable from one another.

“As you wish.” He managed, his eyes following her as she walked to the front door of the business and turned the latch, an audible _click_ locking off the outside world.

“Help me with dinner?” 

*****

The upper floor of the Library was a large living quarters complete with a fully stocked kitchen the likes of which Raven had never seen— a stately cooking hearth was situated in the center of the room, it’s flaming maw home to a hanging cauldron filled with the contents of today’s meal. From the ceiling swayed plentiful strands of various spices ; basil, garlic, parsley, and many more that his novice gaze didn’t recognize. His hostess worked away on the stone tabletop to his left, the hearty aroma of the peppers she handled adding spice to the atmosphere.

“Can I ask something a bit...gruesome?” Anselma questioned, wiping her hands on the apron secured over her blue dress, angry red smears of tomato juice spread across the white fabric. “It’s okay if you’d rather not talk about it.”

Intrigued, Raven turned from the sauce he was tasked with stirring to face her, pivoting a hand behind his back so he could lay a palm on the hot metal of the pot, scorching his flesh. A jolt of excitement buzzed through him as he burned. “I have a penchant for the gruesome.” He admitted, more honest in his secret ecstasy. 

_Layer by layer it consumes._ Fire had long been one of his favorite tormentors — white-hot flames eating away at tender muscle. After a while, not even bone is left, an entire human form reduced to a dustpan of ash. Such things wouldn’t kill him, of course. His cursed biology always found a way to reform no matter the trauma he subjected it to. With each iteration of himself, though, his senses dulled more and more creating a need for even greater horrors.

“That woman you found yesterday...what did she look like? Her body, I mean.” 

“How...much detail would you like?” He asked, applying a bit more pressure to the cauldron behind him, his charred nerves a chorus of excruciation as they exposed themselves to the afternoon air. Sweat beaded in his hairline as he bit his bottom lip, his eyes closed to fight back vocalizing pleasure.

“I just...I want to know what that boy saw to better help him. He was with her everyday, I...need the visual, so don’t hold back.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand painting a line of sauce on her skin unintentionally.

Raven grabbed a rag with his right hand, pulling his left from its torment, the agonized skin began healing over almost instantly. “Anselma.” He said simply, pleased with the way her name rolled on his tongue.

“Y-Yes?” She answered, looking away from her cutting board to face him. He put a finger below her chin, tilting her head up toward his own as her pale countenance went red. 

“She had died in the corner. I’m not sure what illness took her, but it seemed to be viral in nature. Her eyes were open, a face erupted with black sores. The smell was...pungent.” he explained, dabbing at her forehead gently to clean the mess, careful to avoid rubbing it into her hair. “If I had to guess she was gone at least two weeks.”

“How horrible…” Anselma observed, her large eyes staring into his as he worked, their faces mere inches apart. “I-I’ve never heard of such a virus.” 

“Neither have I, and with as long as I’ve been around that’s saying something.” 

_Oh shit._ He thought. Attempting to save face, he added: “I’ve been in my field for quite some time. I’m a combat medic. Usually, I treat battle wounds but all kinds of illness can make its way into the trenches.” His accent returned as he flustered, clearing his throat he continued: “So...it may be something new?”

“Perhaps…” Anselma frowned as she shuffled past him, stirring the sauce Raven had neglected for too long. “You don’t have to hide your accent around me.” She said, lifting a spoonful of the mixture to her lips, blowing gently to cool it down. Her head pivoted to look back at him. “It’s...cute.” 

“...it is?” He questioned, relaxing his speech at her request, the flair of his full accent lacing his words. Cautiously, he shuffled the long sleeve of his sweater to hide the mending burn on his right hand. “I’ve been told it’s hard to understand so I try to …” pausing, he considered the translation of the phrase. “Level it out?” 

“There’s no need.” She held the spoon before him, the complex aroma of the dish wafting into the afternoon. “You’re only here for a few days, right? Who cares what you sound like to the others.”

Raven reached for the utensil, but his hostess plunged it into his mouth before he had the chance, his tongue suddenly coated with a pleasant marriage of tomato and spices. More accustomed to the brutalist cuisine of travel, such lovely notes were an indulgence he hadn’t the chance to partake in for countless years.

His grassy eyes studied her gentle features, a pang of sadness hitting him at the thought of leaving this cozy space and the unexamined treasures that beckoned him from below.

_Leaving her…_

In the two days that they had known each other she had shown him more interest and compassion than anyone in either of his lifetimes. He felt a small smile tug at his lips, his hand found its way to the nape of her hair, his fingers tangling themselves in strands of copper.

“If you wish it, I’ll make it so.” The words were a whisper in her ear as he brushed the hair from her neck with his nose, clearing space to kiss her delicate skin. Somewhere between her beauty and his longing Raven had found a home, if only for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read about my little masochist 💖 Come geek out with me on Tumblr at:
> 
> https://ghost-pocky.tumblr.com/
> 
> Or, if you just want that hot Raven content:
> 
> https://ghostpockywritesguiltygear.tumblr.com/


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